


I'm Drowning in the Night

by thisyearsmodel



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisyearsmodel/pseuds/thisyearsmodel
Summary: LA is too hot and Brendon gets a phone call.Alternatively: You can tell me all day and all night that "House of Memories" isn't about Ryan Ross and I will never, ever believe you (even though you're right).
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Sarah Orzechowski/Brendon Urie
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	I'm Drowning in the Night

Los Angeles days are hot enough, but the nights have always come with a blessed breeze that cools the entire city down. This summer, however, has brought with it a brutal humidity. It sticks to the night air with the memory of relentless sunshine, bringing on an uncomfortable still. The boiling temperatures run through the veins of its citizens with no release. Brendon grew up in the desert; he’s no stranger to the harshness of the sun. But this sticky, tacky, heavy feeling the air has brought recently is new and unsettling. It covers him in sweat and seeps into his bones, even with the cool air conditioner blaring. He misses the breeze. He can’t sleep with the windows closed - he feels trapped and cagey.

It’s one in the morning and he’s sitting on his balcony, not-so silently begging for even the gentlest gust of wind.

LA looks busy on this late Tuesday night, early Wednesday morning. He can see the zig zag of cars like ants marching up and down the freeway if he peers out and over. He vaguely thinks of snapping a photo - just for him, not to share - when his phone buzzes in his hand.

It’s the heat. It has to be the heat. Sweltering madness infecting the citizens of the city.

Brendon hasn’t had the number saved in his phone for years, but he knows exactly whose voice is on the other end.

“Hi,” Brendon greets. He doesn’t even pretend to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

“I was watching your stream earlier. Why do you still dress like a seventeen-year-old?”

“ _Ryan_ …” Brendon begins. He can practically hear the grin through the phone.

“No, seriously,” Ryan laughs lightly. “The glasses and the hat, it’s almost cute.” Ryan sounds older but no different than the last time they spoke. It’s been awhile.

Brendon peers over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of Sarah, curled in their bed. The comforter is wrapped around her as she stirs in her sleep, peaceful aside from those small side-to-side movements. He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he can see stars burst behind his lids. He sighs, loud enough to be heard through the phone.

“What are you doing up?” Ryan asks.

“Can’t sleep. Too hot.”

Ryan hums.

“Come on,” Ryan says. His voice as smooth as silk and Brendon hates him. “Come over tonight.”

“Too hot,” Brendon repeats.

“Not where I am,” Ryan replies.

Brendon meekly tries to fight the smile that’s pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Somehow I doubt that,” he says.

“I have a pool and A/C.”

Brendon laughs through his nose. “So do I,” he says. “And you’re not inviting me over to swim.”

He can hear the smile in Ryan’s voice with his affirmation. “No, I’m not.”

***

Last time was supposed to be the _last time_.

Wrapped in damp sheets and windows wide open, the cool night air floating gently over their naked chests, Brendon lay in the arms of his former friend and lover. No sense of urgency to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night – a feeling both men were all too familiar with. Brendon could feel the rise and fall of Ryan’s chest as he breathed, slow and deep and rolling like the ocean. Ryan kept his fingers curled in Brendon’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. Brendon hummed, soft and melodic under his breath in comfort.

“What’s that?” Ryan asked.

“Hmm?”

“What are you humming?” Ryan’s fingers had stopped working their magic but the two were still tangled in each other.

Brendon shrugged. “Just a little something that might turn into a nothing.”

Ryan cocked his eyebrow in intrigue. “New album?”

Beneath him Brendon nodded, letting out a sigh. He didn’t want to have this discussion with Ryan; every time they’d had it in the past it ended with Brendon feeling small. His music was no longer Ryan’s to dissect.

“Any songs about me?” Ryan asked. Brendon couldn’t tell if he was joking or genuinely curious.

“Not this time,” Brendon said, truthfully. “Different album. More fun, less serious.”

Ryan laughed above him, and Brendon felt it vibrate through his body.

“I liked the last one,” Ryan had said, his fingers back to playing in Brendon’s hair. “You’ve grown, lyrically and musically. Something about the subtleties in your lyrics; they let the music do all the talking for them. Some songs felt like a goodbye, others like a hello.”

Brendon froze in Ryan’s arms for a moment before dislodging his body away. He turned his face towards Ryan’s to see something – what it was he wasn’t quite sure – flash across his eyes for a moment before the honey flecks returned and a smile appeared, faint and fake but there. Brendon looked closer, saw lines etched into the corners of Ryan’s eyes that weren’t there when this whole thing began. He was so beautiful in that moment with the dim bedroom light casting a glow over his face. Brendon felt a lump in his throat. He could close the gap between them, seal their lips together and fuse their bodies until they were one whole being again. Brendon never felt more complete than with Ryan and the knowledge of that broke him. There was someone at home, someone good and pure, supportive and lacking the drip of poison coating the beautiful words she would say to him.

Brendon let his head fall and Ryan mirrored his action, their foreheads touching. Ryan still had a smile on his face that Brendon couldn’t match.

“I gotta go,” Brendon breathed.

Ryan reached out to cup Brendon’s chin, delicately in his grasp. Brendon thought Ryan would beg him to stay, run away with him, live forever just the two of them in Ryan’s small LA bungalow making love and making music all day and all night.

“Okay,” Ryan mumbled against Brendon’s lips. Ryan pressed a small kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth and fell back against the pillows he had been resting on before. Ryan was all limbs, spread out on his bed fishing for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table.

Brendon got ready slowly, watching Ryan from the corner of his eye light a cigarette and shake his head in annoyed disbelief. Brendon felt the tension rise in the room that moments before was the most comfortable place he had ever been in. Ryan ran his fingers through his hair in distress as he mumbled obscenities; “fuck this, fucking bull shit.”

It always ended like this.

Brendon broke first, pulling his jeans over his hips with a snap. “What is it now?” he asked the open space.

“What?” Ryan replied, his voice tight. “We’re done, right? It’s all over so you might as well go.”

Brendon felt his spine twist in anger. His throat bubbled with words that he knew he would regret. _Don’t say it, let it go, just grab you shit and go home_.

Instead he said, “You of all people should know that sometimes a lyric is just a lyric. Not everything is a hidden gem that proves I’m still pining for you.”

Ryan smirked behind his cigarette. “You’re so full of shit.”

“How am I full of shit?” Brendon asked, voice raised almost to a yell.

“You’re here, aren’t you? You’re always here!” Ryan’s voice carried in the small room and Brendon cringed. “Every time the same – I call, you come. You can’t tell me you don’t miss me when you show up in the middle of the night to fuck and run!”

“I do miss you!” Brendon yelled back. “But I don’t…” Brendon trailed off.

He didn’t know how to end that sentence; he probably never would. He hung his head in defeat, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ryan again, but something told him his eyes would prove that Ryan missed him too. Brendon knew that – it’s where the 3 AM phone calls came from, that place in Ryan’s heart that still cared – but nothing was going to change.

“I’m gonna go,” Brendon finally said. “Don’t…don’t call me, okay? At least for a little while, dude. I’m serious.”

Ryan didn’t say anything but delivered a curt nod as Brendon slipped out the door.

***

Even the car is sticky and hot.

Brendon slides in behind the driver’s seat and feels that quick moment of panic. A stream of consciousness starts in his brain: _what am I doing, what am I doing, this is crazy, what am I doing_. His fingers itch to turn the key in the ignition and speed to Ryan’s home. Twenty minutes, if that. They didn’t plan it, moving so close to each other, it just happened. LA is a big city but can sometimes feel impossibly small.

Brendon rolls the windows down and drinks in the summer night air, the breeze coming from driving too fast. He feels free. He thinks of the mess he made the last time they saw each other, the mess they made the first time Ryan called out of the blue, the multiple messes they made in hotel rooms and in the cabin, the final night in Cape Town when they decided it was time to call it quits.

He could kid himself, thinking that he hasn’t wished things were different. He’s wished upon thousands of stars over the last decade that the feelings would fade. He’s written songs and lyrics to ease him into the fact that wishes don’t come true. Because the feelings remain, and he still comes when called.

Brendon knows that this is all they can have, and he thinks that maybe this is enough. They’re no good together and much better apart. A few phone calls and late-night visits in the span of ten years is more than they deserve. No one needs to know – not Sarah, not Spencer, not Zack – no one needs to know.

Ryan’s house looks the same as it has since he moved in as Brendon pulls his car behind Ryan’s. The front door light is on, same as last time. Brendon’s throat suddenly feels dry as he turns the car off. The stream of consciousness returns: _go home, go home and play guitar or wake up your fucking wife or call Spencer or do something else just turn the car around and go home, you don’t need this anymore, go home, go home, go ho-_

A wrap on the car window jolts Brendon from his thoughts and he turns to see Ryan, an eager smile full of teeth and delight.

His hair is longer than Brendon has ever seen it. It looks slept on and messy and Brendon feels desperately torn between wanting to cut it all off or grab it hard in his fists. Maybe a bit of both. Brendon opens the car door and swallows a deep breath.

“You coming in or what?” Ryan asks. Brendon allows himself the tiniest hint of a small as he follows Ryan through the front door.

***

The first time was also supposed to be the last time.

It had been two years since the two were even in the same room together, _Vices and Virtues_ had just come out and Brendon was really proud of that album, proud of what he and Spencer and Dallon had done together. Ryan had called to congratulate him and invited him for a drink in some hotel bar. It was supposed to be nothing. One easy, boring, unfulfilling drink.

Instead, it was quick and dirty with pent up anger and resentment clawing up from beneath the surface. One drink turned into four and before Brendon knew it, he was rutting against Ryan in the elevator as they rode up the five floors to the room Ryan just so happened to have booked.

Brendon had bit down on Ryan’s neck hard enough to bruise and Ryan had shoved him back on the bed for that with a push more intense than he had meant to. Or maybe he did mean it, he had just never thought to push back before.

Ryan was on top of Brendon, clumsy and hurried, filling the hotel room with desperate and needy sounds that were music to Brendon’s ears. Eliciting those sounds from Ryan drove him crazy and he bucked against Ryan to draw those noises from him again and again.

They both came in their jeans like teenagers before they could do anything else.

Brendon had laughed. He laughed so hard he fell backwards on the scratchy hotel sheets and waited for Ryan to fall down next to him. Instead, he could hear Ryan’s angry cursing from the bathroom.

“Oh, come on!” Brendon had yelled out. “You gotta admit – it’s kind of funny! I’m laughing at myself here too, ya know.”

“It’s not that,” Ryan said, emerging against the door of the bathroom, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Dude…this was a huge mistake.”

From the bed, Brendon shrugged. “How huge?” he asked.

“Well, it shouldn’t happen again.”

“Shouldn’t or won’t?” Brendon asked.

Ryan groaned and hit his head with a thud against the bathroom door.

“It’s just sex,” Brendon said. “It doesn’t have to mean everything. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Even in that moment, Brendon couldn’t hold back the sour expression on his face. He was always a terrible liar.

“It has to mean something, Bren,” Ryan said. “I shouldn’t have called you, I’m a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.”

Ryan came over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Brendon. He had a hand on Brendon’s thigh, drawing circles over the denim.

“We’re not friends anymore, dude,” Ryan had whispered. “Not after all this shit – and I don’t even think I want to be friends.”

That had hurt less than Brendon expected. Two and a half years ago, Brendon would have given anything to be friends with Ryan and Jon again, to be part of something bigger than just himself once more. But it was easier to be the front man of a band that actively sought his opinion instead of shaking him down because he didn’t sing the words the right way. Singing someone else’s words wasn’t his problem anymore – he was singing everyone’s words now and he felt the difference.

“I just want to _be_ ,” Ryan eventually said. “Can’t we just…be?”

Brendon didn’t have a clue what that meant but he nodded anyway, dropping his head to the side against Ryan’s shoulder.

“Sure, Ryan,” Brendon said. “We can just be.”

“I’m not gonna call you again,” Ryan said. “But if I do, don’t answer, okay? Promise me you’ll just send me straight to voicemail.”

Brendon grabbed his things and left without giving Ryan an answer.

***

Nothing looks different. Brendon half expects a new dining room table or a change in the artwork on the walls in the hallway, but in the past four years the place looks hauntingly unchanged.

Ryan does look different, though. In the light of the kitchen, Brendon can see he gained weight. Ryan was always skinny, will probably always be skinny, but he looks healthy and light. No dark circles, no protruding bones, just long unkempt hair and a healthy frame. He must be doing well, Brendon thinks, as he sips on a whiskey and coke Ryan made him. Ryan’s leaning against the sink, swirling his drink, while Brendon sits at the high-top island in the middle of the kitchen in no hurry to move this along.

“I saw you playing guitar on your twitch,” Ryan croaks out. He breaks the silence in the kitchen with the grace of a bass drum. “Brought back memories.”

Brendon smiles around his glass. “Music just made us fight,” he says. He’s not going to allow his brain to fill with thoughts of why Ryan was watching him. He doesn’t want to remember that sometimes Ryan misses him.

Ryan smiles back. “ _Lyrics_ made us fight,” he corrects. “Music brought us together.”

“I’m trying not to think too hard about lyrics anymore,” Brendon says. “It’s not worth the aggravation of getting it perfect every time. I’ve said everything I need to say, now I can just write and play for the fun of it.”

Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “You sound uninspired,” he says.

“Nah, not uninspired,” Brendon says. “Just…no particular muse, I guess? No one to write about anymore.”

Ryan shrugs and downs the rest of his drink. He nods towards Brendon as if to ask for a refill but Brendon refrains. One is fine for now. Ryan stands there with a lot of unsaid words stuck to the roof of his mouth. Brendon watches him gulp and trace patterns against the counter tiles.

Neither of the men will make the first move. They stand in limbo as far apart from each other as they can be while still in the same room. There’s tension in the air weighing down heavier than the humidity outside. Brendon should have stayed home, could have watched the cars drive by until the sunrise. Instead, he answered the phone like he always does and now he’s standing in Ryan Ross’ kitchen.

“So,” Brendon begins, “if you didn’t invite me over for a late-night swim, what did you want me to come over for?”

Ryan gulps so loudly Brendon can hear it from across the kitchen.

“Brendon,” he breathes. “You know why you came here.”

Ryan’s eyes are dark with lust and it takes one look before Brendon is tripping over himself to bring their bodies together. Brendon knows what he wants this to be – he wants it to be raw and angry, wants to feel Ryan’s stubble burn across his jaw as their lips crash into each other.

It’s nothing like that when their lips collide. Ryan’s hand is tugging at the hair at the base of Brendon’s skull, but his lips are soft and pliant. Brendon has Ryan pushed against the kitchen counter, but he’s not trapped beneath Brendon’s weight. Brendon’s knee comes in between Ryan’s thighs and he can feel Ryan’s dick getting hard against him. Brendon moans into Ryan’s mouth but it’s not the filthy moan he’s let out in the past. There’s no urgency to speed this up. They’re both comfortable kissing like this, like they have all the time in the world.

Eventually, Ryan’s hand moves from Brendon’s neck to his hips and forces their bodies even closer. Brendon gasps against Ryan’s lips and his hips rock forward. Ryan’s hands start working on Brendon’s jeans and he shimmies Brendon loose from them. Brendon is panting against Ryan’s neck, pressing slow and sloppy kisses at the exposed skin while Ryan works him.

Four years since they made love like this. Brendon’s thought about it a few times since but nothing compares to the real thing. Ryan is jerking him off and moaning into Brendon’s ear. It’s _so_ hot and Brendon pries himself away from Ryan’s grasp to sink down to his knees and work on Ryan’s button fly jeans.

Brendon hasn’t given a blow job in four years and even before that he wasn’t the best at it. But he knows how to make Ryan come in his mouth and he looks up at Ryan from his spot on the floor like that’s the only thing in the world he wants right now.

He grabs the base of Ryan’s dick, not caring that his own dick is out, and wraps his lips around the head. He lets his saliva cover Ryan’s dick, sliding down to his balls and wetting his fist, before he starts jerking Ryan off. His head bobs in rhythm with his fist and Ryan’s fingers are digging into his shoulders, urging him to take more, go faster, swallow deeper. And Brendon will do it. He takes Ryan in deeper, as deep as he can without gagging, and moves his hand down to work Ryan’s balls. Ryan’s hips move on their own, fucking Brendon’s mouth. Brendon loves it, moving his hand away to touch himself while Ryan keeps thrusting.

Ryan’s quiet in bed, at least compared to Brendon who practically belts out moans when things feel right. He lets out short breaths, eyes closed, looking wild and slipping away from reality. He groans out a “fuck” and Brendon stops touching himself to bring his hand back to Ryan’s dick. He slides his lips off but keeps his fist pumping.

“Come in my mouth,” Brendon says.

“Fuck, I want – Brendon,” Ryan manages out.

“Do it. I want you to. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to, _fuck_ , I want you to swallow it," Ryan chokes.

And Brendon agrees, his mouth hungrily attaching itself to Ryan's dick and cheeks hollowing to suck and bob while his hand jerks. Ryan's hips move forward one, two, three, four times and he grabs the back of Brendon's head so forcefully Brendon's eyes tear. He tastes Ryan on his tongue and swallows it all. Brendon does his best not think about how much he loved taking all of Ryan's cock down his throat. 

Ryan's head hits the wall behind him and he looks down, his dick still twitching in Brendon's open mouth. There's something in his eyes that shows more than Ryan will ever allow words to speak. It looks like gratitude but feels even stronger. 

"Do uh, do you want me to," he breathes, motioning at Brendon's own dick. Brendon rises from the floor and wipes his mouth before planting a closed mouth kiss against Ryan's lips. Ryan applies the same pressure back, a little desperate but still unhurried.

"Better idea," he mumbles against Ryan's cheek. "Bedroom?"

Ryan moans his response.

***

Brendon is grateful for Ryan's ceiling fan. The windows are shut but the air conditioner is blowing and the ceiling fan above them is bestowing the breeze Brendon greatly needed just hours ago when he was watching the cars go by. Ryan's not doing much behind Brendon other than humming and playing with Brendon's hair. Brendon missed Ryan's voice. It's low and raw and there are only so many notes he can hit before his voice breaks. It's unique, Brendon guesses, even compared to his or the voices of their friends. He vaguely recognizes Ryan's humming as an old Elliott Smith love song. Brendon decides not to read too much into it. 

He wonders if he could stay the night. If he could fall asleep here in Ryan's arms and still not get caught. He could set an alarm and sneak out before the sun rises. He knows when Sarah wakes up, he knows she's used to sleeping without him some nights or him waking up earlier than her. 

No one ends up happy here, Brendon reminds himself. This is all they have and this is all they will ever have and that's _fine_. 

"When will I see you again?" Ryan asks into the side of Brendon's head. It comes out muffled and Brendon scrunches his nose.

"Next time you call," he says. "You call, I come. Well, sometimes we both come," he jokes.

Ryan laughs too, surprisingly. This is the part it usually gets bad. This is where they insult each other over music or lifestyle choices. Brendon remembers the entire year of 2013 they couldn't get enough of each other. Ryan called almost once a month and each time Brendon got in his car and thought this was it: they were just gonna fucking do it; tell each other they loved each other with words instead of bodies and say fuck it all. But it always ended with a fight or a pissing match and Brendon left angry or Ryan threw him out in a huff and they were done with each other until the next phone call. 

"I know you can't stay," Ryan says. "So I'll let you go. When you're ready. You can go when you're ready."

Brendon stirs beside Ryan. His brow is furrowed but he tries to keep his voice light. "That easy, huh?" 

Ryan licks his lips. His voice is dry and rough. "There's a lot I wanna say, you know. But I'm not gonna say it, I don't want to ruin this...whatever we have. I am proud of you though. For what it's worth. If it's worth anything at all."

"It is," Brendon assures him. "I didn't do it all for you, but the parts I did. Well. I'm glad you're proud of those." 

Ryan nods, followed by a large yawn. He slowly shimmies himself out from underneath Brendon's weight and settles on the other side of the bed. Both men break apart, rolling over on their sides to face each other in the dim bedroom light. Ryan traces patterns against Brendon's side and Brendon has to suck in a breath at first. Ryan stares at Brendon's torso absentmindedly.

"If you could stay the night, would you still do it?" Ryan asks.

"Ryan, I can't -"

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you _could_ stay the night, would you want to?"

In the night, Brendon nods. "But I can't," he adds.

Ryan shrugs and rolls over on his back, facing the ceiling. "Don't got until I pass out then?"

Brendon wraps his arm around the older man, pressing a kiss to his temple in promise. He listens to Ryan's breathing, to the rhythm of his heart beating against Brendon's own skin. He won't leave until Ryan's fast asleep. He remembers Ryan being a heavy sleeper. He would always be the first one to pass out on the bus or on a flight to whatever city they were headed to. Brendon had always wanted to wrap his arms around him, especially on those first few trips of their first tour. 

Maybe next time, Brendon could be the one to call. He takes one last look from the bedroom door and smiles. 

Maybe next time. 

**Author's Note:**

> MCR got back together and thus I flung my ass down the bandom rabbit hole. Ryden was the first OTP I ever wrote for so here we are, fifteen years later. I'm almost embarrassed to share it but it'd be more embarrassing hiding it on my laptop. Also didn't edit a single thing. Have at it.


End file.
